


Meet

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Date, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 11:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Bilbo’s set up with someone strange.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for sarahcakes613’s “blind date - bilbo/anyone other than Thorin” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158953988735/for-the-bingo-blind-date-bilboanyone-other). (For [my bingo](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158937866370/fic-bingo).)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He has no idea why he let Gandalf do this to him. They’re not even really _friends_ , and Gandalf certainly doesn’t know him well enough to know his type. Or anything about him. Gandalf didn’t even _ask_. Just showed up with no information other than, “The Green Dragon, six o’clock on Saturday. And good heavens, don’t wear that coat!”

Bilbo’s wearing that coat, mostly out of spite, because all of his clothes are perfectly fine. And frankly, he doubts Gandalf’s pick will be worth impressing anyway. Nonetheless, he finds himself inordinately nervous, and the whole walk to The Green Dragon, he keeps pausing to think he should turn back.

But he doesn’t, and eventually, he’s pushing through the ajar door right into a wall of sound. The place is always full this time of week, glasses clinking and songs ringing out. He’s barely had time to scan the crowd before a bar maid’s at his arm, drawing him deeper in and asking over the racket, “Are you Gandalf’s friend?”

‘Friend’ is the wrong word, but Bilbo nods anyway. The girl tugs him forward by his sleeve, and the next thing he knows, he’s being shoved into a seat at a small table by the wall, occupied only by one other man.

Well, not _Man_. _Dwarf_. A male, very Dwarven dwarf, with a thick, golden beard and the sort of clips in it that only a dwarf would design, a smattering of thin braids in his long hair, and several too-thick layers of deep purple tunics. Bilbo’s not sure if all the blood’s drained out of his face because his blind date is a _male dwarf_ or because, somehow, that male dwarf is distinctly _handsome_.

And Bilbo’s perfectly aware that he has no business being attracted to male dwarves whatsoever. He tries to tell himself it’s not too late to run.

But the bar maid’s blocking his exit, and she asks him cheerily, “What will you have?”

Bilbo’s head is completely breaking down, and he barely manages to squeak, “Water.” She looks at him like he’s crazy, coming all the way to The Green Dragon to order _water_ , but he can’t summon a better answer.

She wanders off a second later, and Bilbo’s date puts down his own mug of beer with a heavy clunk, chirping, “You’re a hobbit.”

Bilbo returns dazedly, “You’re a dwarf.”

The dwarf shakes his head, eyes squinting, and mutters, “I can’t believe Gandalf set me up with a _hobbit._ ”

As hot as the dwarf is, Bilbo finds his nose pinching in annoyance. “Well you are _in the Shire._ The question is, what’s Gandalf doing setting _me_ up with a _dwarf_?”

Looking just as mystified, the dwarf shrugs his broad shoulders. Bilbo watches the movement and catches himself wondering just how many muscles are hidden under those bulky clothes—he knows dwarves tend to carry the fitter sort of weight. He’d still never dreamed of dating one. The bar maid reappears and places a mug of water on the table without a word, then is gone again just as Bilbo’s telling her, “Thank you.”

The dwarf snorts, “I couldn’t be with someone who only drinks water anyway.”

Bilbo’s head snaps around, his cheeks heating. He splutters, “I didn’t mean to order it! I was just surprised and got all... all flustered.” Which doesn’t seem like the right thing to say either, but it’s already too late. The dwarf lifts one bushy brow, his lips drawing into something of a grin. His eyes are bright, his expression youthful—Bilbo’s heard tales of the Dwarven lifespan, but he doubts this one can be much older than him. In an effort to start all over again and be a _proper_ gentlehobbit like he’s quite capable of being, Bilbo thrusts his hand suddenly across the table and announces, “I’m Bilbo, by the way. Bilbo Baggins.”

“Fíli,” the dwarf answers, now grinning broadly. “At your service.” He takes Bilbo’s hand in his thick fingers and gives a firm, warm squeeze that makes Bilbo’s skin burn where it was touched—Fíli’s strength is palpable. The greeting is polite, but the wording’s no good for Bilbo’s head—he doesn’t think _services_ should be offered on a blind date. 

Beer is a much better offering, and Fíli lets go of Bilbo’s hand to slide his mug across the table. “Here, have some of mine then. It’s my second round.” Bilbo startles, and Fíli chuckles, “Got here a bit early, but I can knock ‘em back without knocking over, don’t you worry.” He has the audacity to wink, his smile showing off endearing dimples. The old outsider prejudices are getting harder and harder to hold onto.

Bilbo says only half begrudgingly, “Thank you,” and takes a quick sip. It’s pleasant enough—he’s always liked the drinks here—but he realizes belatedly that he’ll need a lot more liquid courage than one swig will give him. So he downs a longer gulp and shoves the mug back before Fíli can say anything.

Fíli just chuckles, “Well, at least you’re still sitting here. Not bad for someone so affronted by dwarves.”

Bilbo’s cheeks instantly flare up again, and he returns indignantly, “I’m not _affronted_. Just... surprised. You noted the difference first!”

Fíli shrugs again. He has an easy, casual air, but his face portends of _fun_ , the sort of which strikes Bilbo as both far too mischievous and wildly exciting. It’s always been a struggle to be a _proper_ hobbit, and Gandalf’s always getting in the way, but this is the worst of it yet. Leaning back in his chair, Fíli strokes his large fingers through his beard and murmurs, “Well, you’re not so bad as hobbits come...” He pauses, during which Bilbo vainly tries to stop himself from wondering if that golden mane is as soft as it looks. “I don’t suppose you can grow a beard?”

Bilbo shakes himself out of his reverie enough to snap, “No, and I wouldn’t much like to.”

“Is mine so bad?” Fíli laughs.

“No,” Bilbo admits, then cuts himself off from the rest. He phrases carefully, “It’s quite nice... for a dwarf.”

“You’re not so bad looking yourself.” 

Bilbo grows even hotter around the collar.

Fíli breaks the intense eye contact to take another swish of beer, and that’s when Bilbo notices just how much the racket’s gone down. More than a few eyes are on him, though they quickly avert when Bilbo glances back. Once again, Gandalf’s found a way to thoroughly sully his reputation. 

He considers his best course: leaving, and the options surrounding that: alone or... _not._

A quick once over of his date decides that for him, though he knows he’ll never forgive himself for the choice. Leaning enough across the table that prying eyes and ears won’t pick it up, Bilbo asks, “Look, aside from having a wizard for an acquaintance, I really try not to be so strange—especially in public. Perhaps we could move this somewhere more private?”

He realizes too late how that sounds. But he does nothing to squash the interest that leaps onto Fíli’s face. Fíli leans just as far in to answer, “Surely Gandalf’s been promoted to a friend after this. But I’d love to visit your little hobbit hole.” He winks again, and Bilbo flushes hotly.

Throwing a few coins onto the table, Fíli gets up, and Bilbo follows, wondering what in the world he’s gotten himself into now.


End file.
